Departing the way
by Frogboy Lives
Summary: Train a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6. Or will she? AU. New Chap Up 070104
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**- I do not own _Alias. Alias_ belongs to JJ Abrams. Some orignal characters and Marshall gadgets are mine, otherwise all his.  
  
**A/N**- ~#...#~ Denotes radio communications.  


* * *

  
**Prologue**  
  
  
_T minus three…_  
  
To the outside observer the building was an imposing edifice of marble and glass, older than most of those worked in and around it. The interior, however, was much the same as any modern office block of the twenty-first century. Fluorescent fixtures lit white-washed walls and computer cabling was trailed behind desks and along cubicle walls.  
  
It was the mainframe these cables were attached to that was the object of the girl's attention. With practiced skill, she stripped several wires of their brightly coloured plastic and spliced them into the PDA she carried.  
  
"I'm in. You copy, Pretty Boy?"  
  
_T minus two…_  
  
"Copy, Foxy Lady." The young man sitting in a van across from the rear entrance answered. "Took you long enough."  
  
~# I was trying to be discreet. # ~  
  
The blonde's lips quirked at the girls mock-acerbic reply. "I'm setting up the by-pass now. Team Beta is in position and will be ready to cut the power in three, two-"  
  
_T minus one…_  
  
~# -one. #~ The dim lights of the mainframe died. ~# Emergency power will come on in fifty seconds. #~  
  
"Copy, Pretty Boy" Exiting the darkened room, the girl was headed at a fast walk towards the target.  
  
~# Once emergency power comes online; our by-pass will give you a three minute window. After that full power will be restored and the security system will reset. You must be out by the time full power is restored. #~  
  
"Or I get up close and personal with the security forces. I copy-"  
  
_T minus zero…_  
  
~# -Mother Hen. #~  
  
"Please stick with the given code-names, Foxy Lady." The blond man's voice betrayed a hint of irritated affection. "Are you at the target?"  
  
~# Affirmative. Coast is clear. I should be finished well before the window's up. #~  
  
_T plus one..._  
  
~# Just be careful, I would not like to be me if something happens to you. #~  
  
The girl chuckled as she knelt before the safe "Pretty Boy, are you scared of my…"  
  
~# Uh-oh. #~  
  
"Uh-Oh? What's uh-oh?"  
  
~#Mains power has just been restored. Security forces have been alerted to your presence and are enroute to your position. They'll be there in just under two minutes#~  
  
"Well that gives me at least minute." The girl resumed cracking the safe.  
  
~# Negative! Abort now! #~  
  
"I'm more than halfway through, if we abort now we are not going to get a second chance."  
  
~#Are you-  
  
_T plus two…_  
  
"-insane?!" The blonde practically screamed into the comm.  
  
~#Not according to my last pysch evaluation. Just be ready to evac.#~  
  
_T plus three…_  
  
"Stop her!" came the security guard's hoarse yell, punctuated by bursts of gunfire.  
  
"Sorry boys, but my ride's here." The girl sprinted across the tarmac. As she neared the already rolling van the door slid open and the blond man pulled her inside.  
  
"You are crazy, you know." He declared as the van sped towards the pick-up zone.  
  
Panting the girl dangled the amulet taken from the safe. "Maybe, but I'm also the best, Pretty Boy."  
  
"Ops over now, no need for code-names." Grinned Julian Sark to his team-mate, Sydney Derevko.  



	2. Chapter One: Meetings

  
**Chapter One  
  
Meetings**  
  
  
**Los Angles**  
  
  
October 16th 1981,_ Police are investigating yesterday's car crash, which left three people dead. Whilst details are sketchy at this stage, it appears that the first car, driven by an as yet unidentified man, lost traction, clipped a second car, carrying local woman Laura Bristow and her young daughter Sydney, causing both cars to plough through safety barriers and plunge into the swollen river._  
  
"'Police are yet to recover the bodies of Mrs Bristow or her daughter.'" Eric Weiss read over his friend's shoulder. "Michael, while I know we get a bit out of the loop here, I think you should know that paper's nearly twenty years old."  
  
"Thanks, Eric, I hadn't noticed." Michael Vaughn mock-glowered at Weiss, as the dark-haired agent randomly picked up a thick sheaf of paper before sitting across from him. "It's from those files Devlin send down this morning."  
  
"But what has a fifteen, sixteen-year-old car crash got to do with SD-6? Hang on a minute," Weiss looked up from his folder. "Bristow…as in Jack Bristow?"  
  
"As in Agent Jonathan 'Jack' Bristow; our main asset on the Alliance and only double-agent at SD-6?" Vaughn leaned back in his chair, "Yep."  
  
"He doesn't need _another_ handler?" At Vaughn's weary nod, Weiss continued, "That's what, three this month?"  
  
"And seven since his old handler retired. Apparently he sent back Lambert with the message, 'I don't care who you assign me, so long as they have the understanding God gave a goldfish.'"  
  
"So who's the poor bastard they've assigned this time?"  
  
Vaughn scrubbed his face with his palms. "You're looking at him."  
  
"Oh, you poor bastard. When does the torture start?"  
  
"This afternoon, the details of the meet came with the news."  
  
"So I'll see you right back here tomorrow morning, then?"  
  
Chuckling, Weiss ducked as Vaughn threw a case file at him.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
**Helsinki**  
  
  
"Once we retrieved the target, we proceeded to the pick-up zone and, taking the usual precautions, returned here as soon as possible." Standing, feet wide apart, hands clasped at the small of her back, Sydney finished her report. "The amulet is still in analysis, but the tentative conclusion is that it _is_ a genuine Rambaldi artifact."  
  
"So all in all, a completely successful operation, you would say." Irina Derevko, formerly known as Laura Bristow, currently as 'The Man', stated as she perused the mission debrief in front of her on the glass table-top.  
  
"So it would seem, yes."  
  
"Except for the matter of the security guards." Alexander Khasinau ground out from his position behind Irina's left shoulder, glaring at the pair standing before Irina's desk.  
  
"None of whom got a good look at Sydney." Replied Sark coolly in his lightly clipped accent "And who wouldn't have even known she was there if intelligence had informed us of the new mains connections which cut our operational window down to a third of its supposed size."  
  
"You should have aborted as soon as you became aware of the guards," Khasinau growled. "The cost of a second operation is far more prefer-"  
  
"They still would have known someone had penetrated the building, they would have discovered the flaw in their system that enabled us to do so and come up with a way to compensate for it." Sydney shot back. "By the time we set up an alternate plan, the target most likely would have been moved to a more secure location. We were not going to get a second chance."  
  
"It's far too early for the organization to become exposed."  
  
"Alexander, that's enough." Although Irina had barely raised her voice, the effect was comparable to her firing a shotgun. "What's done is done. Sark, how far is the follow up from completion?"  
  
"All of the men we brought in have reported back to their bases. Our man inside has ensured that any security records have been taken care of. Any outside resources have been compensated and convinced that we were part of another organization."  
  
"Excellent work." Neatly organising the papers in the folder, Irina handed the file to Khasinau. "Alexander, Sark, you're dismissed. Stay a while Sydney."  
  
With murmured acknowledgments the gaunt Russian and lithe Brit left the elegant office, leaving the Derevko women alone.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"It's okay Michael, it's just a first meeting, not like he's gonna do any thing to you." Vaughn murmured to himself as he strode up the granite path. "Who am I kidding, it's in a cemetery, nothing good can come of this. Okaay, its row forty, plot seven, so that would be Bristow there."  
  
Although the younger agent made very little noise as he approached the saturnine figure, Bristow inclined his head slightly as Vaughn passed. Several minutes passed in silence as the pair stood unmoving. It was Bristow who broke the stillness.  
  
"Are the flowers for me, or were you actually planning on blending in?" Came the terse query.  
  
"Oh, they're for my Aunt…" Vaughn glanced at the headstone he stood in front of. "…Greg."  
  
  
"I see I was doing the goldfish a disservice when I assumed that CIA officers shared their level of intelligence."  
  
"Look, I got this assignment less than three hours ago, I think Devlin was afraid I'd skip the country if I had any longer to consider it. So you'll forgive me if my cover's missing a few small details." Vaughn snapped back.  
  
"You have a bit more backbone than the others, that's good. Jack Bristow."  
  
"Michael Vaughn."  
  
"You're William Vaughn's son, aren't you?" It was a statement not a question. "He was a good man, didn't deserve what happened to him."  
  
"From what I've read neither did you." Vaughn replied softly, nodding at the dual graves before Bristow.  
  
"Their bodies were never found. All those graves hold are memories and empty caskets." Bristow paused momentarily, "I remember, that throughout the service I was wondering whether actually putting my wife and child in the ground and _knowing_, would have been better than not finding them and always asking 'what if?'."  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"I would have done the same thing."  
  
"Huh."  
Irina smiled at her daughter, "Ignoring Sark's abort order. I do actually read mission transcripts occasionally. Now sit down and stop looking like you're going to your mother's funeral."  
  
"I do not." The younger woman muttered as she sat in the leather seat Irina gestured to.  
  
"Yes, you do. Every time I ask you to stay after a debrief you look as if the world's about to end and it's all your fault. Your father had exactly the same look." The smile turned bittersweet. "Sometimes, when I look at you, I see him staring back at me."  
  
Sydney suddenly found her hands to be of great interest.  
  
"Now, as to why I asked you to stay." Reaching into the attaché by her side, Irina retrieved a thick dossier and slid it across the table. "Happy birthday, Sydney."  
  
"A new mission?" Sydney responded dubiously "Interesting present, Mom."  
  
"It's one of the more difficult you'll face, but I think you're up the challenge."  
  
Irina watched with a small grin while Sydney examined the contents of the dossier, her expression going from curious, to puzzled, to incredulous, to delighted.  
  
"Mom, these are university prospectuses, for every school I've been interested in."  
  
"And a few you haven't. You'd have to pass the application process and do the actual work on your own, of course, but anything you need taken care by way of identification, documentation, pointless bureaucracy…"  
  
"But what about the organization? I mean what if you need me for an op."  
  
"Sydney, the organization will not fall apart while you get an education. Now, go, read those and we'll talk more over dinner. Although you're so like your father, you'll probably have your application half finished by then."  
  
Sydney paused in the doorway, "Mom, would Dad, do you think…"  
  
"That he'd have been proud of you? I know, that if could see you he would be, exceedingly so." Irina returned her daughter's radiant smile she left the office.  
  
As she heard Sydney's footsteps echo down the corridor, Irina leant back in her chair and steepled her hands under her chin. "What he'd think of me, however, is an entirely different story."  



	3. Chapter Two: Settling In

  
**Chapter Two  
  
Settling In  
  
  
Los Angeles**  
  
  
"So that concludes this year's course overview. Moving on, there will be a series of campus orientations later this afternoon, those students who are new to UCLA this semester, I strongly suggest you take one, two if necessary. Last year alone, fifteen freshmen were lost, never to be heard from again." The graying professor's clear baritone carried easily over the scrape of chairs, shuffling of papers and soft chuckles that filled the spacious lecture theatre. "And I believe that's all from me, class dismissed."  
  
The noise level of the room suddenly swelled to deafening levels, as four hundred odd students resumed previous conversations and started new ones. One of those students was Sydney Derevko, or as her current alias had it, Sydney Jenkins, just one of many new students with nothing more than a doctored life history to distinguish her from the crowd.  
  
Pausing a moment at the foot of the steps, waiting for the flow of students leaving the lecture theatre to slacken enough that she could exit herself, Sydney shifted her books from left arm to right and absent-mindedly tucked one of her long bangs behind her left ear. The unconscious gesture reminded her of her mother and her curious initial reaction to Sydney's choice.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
_"University of California? Interesting choice, do you have any particular reason for it?" To anyone who didn't know her, Irina would have sounded merely curious, one who knew her well, however, would have detected the dubious note in her voice.  
  
"They're supposed to have some of the finest literature professors currently teaching. You think it's a bad choice?" Not that she was going to change her mind, but it never hurt to have her mother's approval.  
  
"No, no, they do or at least did have. Just curious I guess." Indirectly changing the subject Irina continued, "Have you thought about scholarships, and the like? Things that are going to affect your cover."_  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
Several months later, entering at a second year level instead of first and the recipient of a full scholarship, Sydney might have suspected the hand of her mother at work, but for the fact that academic achievement was one of the few things Irina Derevko held sacrosanct.  
  
However, amongst all the careful preparations, construction of back-story, creation of identification and falsifying of documents, there was one thing that had been overlooked.  
  
Accommodation.  
  
By the time the necessary arrangements had been made to enable Sydney to enter college life without suspicion, there hadn't actually been any dorms left on-campus and most of the available apartments and room within a reasonable distance, were either out of 'Sydney Jenkins' price range or available for very good reasons. This meant that Sydney had been living in one of the organization's safe houses for the past month, an arrangement that could not continue indefinitely, for the sakes of both organizational security and Sydney's sanity. As she contemplated this a bright yellow sign caught Sydney's eye.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"She's got it!"  
  
"No, he has!"  
  
"Get him!"  
  
"LOOK OUT!!"  
  
So intent was the ebony-skinned woman on tackling her quarry, equally intent on evading her, that neither of them noticed Sydney until all three went down in a tangle on limbs.  
  
"Great way to watch where you're going." The woman commented as she disentangled herself from the pile, flashing an apologetic grin at Sydney. "Sorry about that."  
  
"And I noticed that you did _such_ a better job," was the pointed response from her scruffy blonde companion. "Here let me help."  
  
Accepting the bespectacled young man's hand Sydney rose gracefully. "No problem, but what _were_ you doing?"  
  
"Playing Frisbee." The blonde replied as he retrieved the fluorescent green disc, flipping it between his fingers. "Oh, I'm Will, by the way, and this is Francie."  
  
"Sydney." A look of bemusement crossed her face. "Frisbee? I thought that was non-contact, especially for bystanders."  
  
"It is, unless you're playing with Australians." Francie deadpanned, gesturing at the large group of students playing on the grass. "Nuts the lot of them, they don't think it's a sport unless you tackle."  
  
"Hey, we heard that!"  
  
"If you three are just gonna talk, d'ya at least think you could chuck us back the Frisbee."  
  
Expertly tossing the disc underhand, Will turned back to Sydney and Francie. "Hey, Syd, you want to join in? It's really quite fun, once you get past the incredible violence."  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"Four months, it's now officially over." Eric Weiss leaned back in his chair and stretched as he said this.  
  
"What's over?" Vaughn asked absent-mindedly as he went over the latest reports from counter-intelligence.  
  
"The Bristow Handler pool."  
  
"The what?" Vaughn's voice rose incredulously. "You were running a pool on me?"  
  
"No I was not running _a_ pool on you." Weiss corrected. "I was running two. How long you lasted and who was next in the firing line."  
  
Deciding actual bullets would be juvenile, Vaughn settled for shooting his friend a dirty look. "And just who won these pools, Eric."  
  
"Well, nobody thought you'd last this long, so I guess you did." With that he passed a large bottle across the desk to Vaughn. "Here's your prize."  
  
"Ulcer medication?"  
  
"After dealing with Agent Bristow for four months, office consensus was you'd need it. Besides, you never know when someone's going to slip rattler venom in your coffee."  
  
"I'm not even going to ask where that one came from."  
  
"Yeah, that's usually the best policy. So," Drawing out the last syllable, Weiss abruptly leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, propping his chin on his interlaced fingers he looked the other agent in the eyes. "Michael, what's it like, really?"  
  
"Rattle snake venom? Can't say I'd be in a position to know."  
  
Rolling his eyes heavenward at Vaughn's deliberate obtuseness, Weiss clarified, "Working with Bristow. You should hear half the stories floating around here. Is it true he keeps the severed fingers of his enemies on his bookshelf?"  
  
"No, they're in his liquor cabinet, right next to the peppermint schnapps."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Of course not." Vaughn slumped back in disbelief. "Eric, even if he did a third of the things they say he does, how would I know?"  
  
"You _are_ his handler."  
  
"That doesn't make us drinking buddies, or even confidants. Eric, Jack is very… standoffish, to put it mildly."  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"And to put it bluntly, he's a jerk!" Francie paused in the middle of her tirade to fling the Frisbee in the direction of the 'goalposts', actually two stacks of textbooks. "Cheating on me was bad enough, but with my flatmate?"  
  
"What happened next?" The rather anarchic game purporting to be Frisbee turned out to be as much for socialising as anything else, and to be honest with herself, Sydney was genuinely intrigued by the unfolding saga of Francie's ex-boyfriend and -flatmate.  
  
"Chucks him out his ear, she does, her slag of a roomie too." One of the other team's players, a lanky brunette who gestured violently as she spoke, answered in tones of marked admiration. "You should've seen it, clothes everywhere, Francie here, quite justifiably mind you, screeching like a banshee. Fan-bloody-tastic."  
  
"Well, entertainment value aside, it still leaves me with a two-person rent and a one-person income." Ducking after a particularly low throw, she continued "In the middle of the worst part of the year to be looking for a new flatmate too, just to make things that little bit more difficult."  
  
Sydney skidded to a halt as she remembered why she'd been over this side of the campus in the first place. "Wait a moment, you wouldn't be the 'F. Calfo' who stuck up all those 'room for rent' signs, would you?"  
  
"Last time I looked I was. You're interested in the room?"  



	4. Chapter Three: Guilt Trips

  
**Chapter Three  
  
Guilt Trips  
  
  
Los Angles**   
  
Looking out of her office window, Judy Barnett heaved a sigh of resignation. All things considered, the afternoon was an exceptionally fine one, the sun was out but not glaring, the temperate was mild and the smog was low. It was the perfect day to have been rescheduling her last appointment and taking the rest of the afternoon off. However, much as she would have liked to, this was one appointment that couldn't be rescheduled, ever. It was time for her fortnightly 'chat' with Jack Bristow.  
  
What fun.  
  
She had just finished just reviewing her notes from their last session, when a single sharp knock on the open wooden door signaled Bristow's presence in her doorway.  
  
"Agent Bristow," putting down her pen, Barnett gestured at her couch, "please, sit down."  
  
"Dr Barnett." Bristow stiffly acknowledged as he gingerly settled himself on the leather couch.  
  
Sighing internally, Barnett propped her elbows on her armrests, fingers linked, "Agent Bristow, we've been having these sessions for, what, six months?"  
  
"Eight," and two sessions in, Barnett had realised that beneath an icy and forbidding exterior custom engineered to keep people away, Jack Bristow possessed an even icier and more forbidding interior as a second line of defense.  
  
"That long? Agent Bristow, Jack, I think we know each other well enough that you could call me Judy," pausing a moment at his blank expression she continued, "or at least drop the Doctor."  
  
Bristow didn't reply at first, obviously considering this possibility thoroughly before finally answering with, "Alright, Barnett."  
  
Firmly resisting the urge to bash either herself or Bristow insensate with her legal pad, Barnett instead chose to take a very deep breath and remind herself that progress, no matter how small, was progress.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"Steady, steady. That's it you're making excellent progress"  
  
A masculine voice emanated from what appeared at first glance to be a small walking mountain of cardboard boxes. "Y'know, I am relying on you to be my eyes."  
  
"Okay, three steps backwards, then two to the right."  
  
"You're sure?" Despite the fact his face was obscured by the stack of packing crates he carried, the skepticism in Will's voice made it clear that at least one of his eyebrows was raised.  
  
Dismissing his worries with a wave of a single dusky hand, Francie replied "Sure, I'm sure."  
  
_-CRASH!-_  
  
"Maybe that should have been two back and three right," she amended as Will endeavored to extricate himself from the warren of boxes he'd just fallen into.  
  
Biting the insides of her lips in a futile attempt to stifle her giggles, Sydney gathered up the contents of the recently airborne containers. Finally, she managed to ask "Will, are you hurt?"  
  
"Only my dignity, luckily I managed to land on something…" extending a hand he revealed a set of lacy underwear tangled in his fingers, "…soft." he finished lamely, blushing a fierce magenta.  
Clasping her hand to her forehead melodramatically, Sydney proclaimed "My unmentionables, profaned by the touch of a man. The shock! The horror!"  
  
Making no effort whatsoever to hide _her_ amusement, Francie chipped in "Jeez Will, you could have at least waited until we got Syd moved in before trying to get in her pants."  
  
The tiniest trace of sarcastic petulance in his tone, Will commented "I'm so glad that I could provide entertainment for you two. Do you think you could possibly help me up now?"  
  
Passing her armful of clothing to Francie with a shared grin, Sydney bent towards Will, linking her hands with his, she braced her knees and lent back, pulling him to his feet. Upright once more, the disheveled young man shot a dirty look at Francie, now lying prone with laughter on the floor, before offering to make coffee.  
  
"But Francie, you're not getting any." He finished with a grin, as he backed out of the cluttered living room, "This is just for me and Syd."  
  
"Whose coffee are you using then?" Francie's quick retort carried through the kitchen's open door.  
  
"Damn, foiled again." Will cursed good-naturedly as he placed the full kettle on the burner and turned on the gas. Hefting the heavy ceramic jar filled with teabags he'd just taken from its lofty perch above the stove, he called out. "You want sugar with yours, Syd?"  
  
"No, just milk thanks."  
  
Dumping the better half of a tablespoon of sugar in his own mug, he flipped open the broadsheet lying on the kitchen bench, dislodging the pile of papers sitting next to it. Retrieving an errant sheet, Will peered at it curiously, before letting out a low whistle of admiration. "Just how smart are you Sydney?"  
  
"Say what?" Paused mid-step, Syd leaned back out of the doorway of one of the flat's two bedrooms, glancing quizzically at both Will and Francie. The latter was also looking at former as if he'd grown an extra head.  
  
"Oh, it's just that it says here, that you're on the Baxter scholarship, you have to be like, three kinds of genius just to apply for it."  
  
As Will spoke an expression of comprehension flashed across Francie's face, accompanied by the sound of the kettle whistling, "McKinley's paper." she stated, as if that explained everything.  
  
Sensing that the opposite was true from Syd's blank look, Will continued, pouring boiling water into the waiting mugs as he talked. "During the summer, Professor McKinley, my history lecturer, he kind of shanghaied me into starting research on a paper for him. Basically, it's looking at the various scholarships offered here, y'know why each one started, how long they've been around, who finances them, that kind of stuff."  
  
"Sounds fascinating." It is doubtful that anyone had ever managed to fill two words as full of sarcasm before.  
  
"Tell me about it. Although, I just started the memorial scholarships, and there's something about one of them…" Twisting the screw-cap off the milk-bottle, Will paused, "Uh, Francie, this milk, it's… _whew_."  
  
Resealing it as quickly as humanly possible, Will held the offending liquid at arm's length. "I'm just going to get rid of this. I'll get a fresh bottle while I'm at it."  
  
Looking at Will's retreating back, Sydney leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. "Wow, he's a really nice guy." she commented.  
  
"Yeah," Francie drawled, mimicking the other woman's posture, "do you think we should have told him he still has one of your bras tangled in his hair?"  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"Tell me about Michael Vaughn." Glancing at the clock on the wall, which showed that five minutes until the end of an almost completely useless two hours, Barnett silently told the inner voice that warned a few more sessions like this and she'd be the one needing therapy, to shut the hell up. "He's been your handler for the past four months, I believe."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hoping for slightly less monosyllabic answer, Barnett prodded "And in the four months between Chresner's retirement and Vaughn's assignment, how many handlers did you have?"  
  
"I can't remember the exact number. There were personality clashes."  
  
Small wonder that. Barnett briefly wondered who she'd have to kill to get herself re-assigned.  
  
"But there aren't with Agent Vaughn."  
  
Bristow shrugged "He has flaws, due to his youth mostly."  
  
Seizing the opening, Barnett asked "Vaughn's a very junior agent, why did you decide to stick with him?"  
  
"I had my reasons."  
  
"Is it because your wife killed his father?"  
  
"What do you know about my marriage?" The mild tone of Bristow's query, neither defensive nor accusative, had Barnett replying before she'd even realized he'd asked.  
  
"Most of the details are beyond my security clearance. In fact, if the directors believed I could create an accurate evaluation without knowing anything about you, I don't think I would even have been cleared for as much, or rather as little, as I was."  
  
"But you know the basics."  
  
"That the woman known as Laura Bristow, was actually a Soviet deep-cover agent named Irina Derevko, who spied on you for period of approximately ten years. She was also believed responsible for the deaths of a number of CIA agents, William Vaughn among them." She briefly wet her lips before continuing, while she had wanted to bring this subject up for a while, it hadn't been in this manner "She died in a car accident, what was reported to be a collision with an oncoming car, but was actually a colossal bungle on the part of the FBI agent assigned to investigate her. Your daughter was also killed.  
  
"Afterwards you spent six months in solitary. The first three months of which were suicide watch." Bristow's eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to his wrist as she said this. "When you were released Arvin Sloane, approached you with an offer to join SD-6."  
  
"He believed I would gladly turn my back on a government that was responsible killing my family. He didn't realize I blamed someone else entirely for their deaths." Bristow stood abruptly. "I believe our two hours are up, Barnett. I'll be back in a fortnight, unless you request to see me before then." Turning he strode briskly towards the doorway.  
  
Reasoning she had nothing to lose Barnett asked one final question. "One thing, Jack, I've seen nothing in the reports of the accident to suggest you were anyway at fault. So why do you blame yourself?"  
  
Bristow paused in the doorway his hand on the knob "Because my wife and daughter's deaths _are_ my fault."  
  
The sharp click of the door closing sounded loudly in Barnett's ears.  



	5. Chapter Four: Between Friends

  
**Chapter Four  
  
Between Friends  
  
  
Los Angeles**  
  
  
Located deep within field branch headquarters, the CIA gym was much like any other. Rows of treadmills and exercise bikes vied for space with both machine- and free- weights, while an impressive collection of medicine balls and floor-mats were stacked neatly against the walls, ready for use. As with any space used solely for physical activities for a prolonged period of time, the sharp scent of stale sweat lingered in the room, in spite of the whirring fans going full bore.  
  
"Damn fitness evals, don't know why we have them, it's not like we're field rated or anything. You do not need to be able to run a mile in eight minutes to man a desk."  
  
"They do it just to annoy you, Eric." Grinned Vaughn in response to his friend's resigned grousing. Idly scratching at the adhesive patch of one of the heart-rate monitors attached to his chest, he casually added. "Besides, I think one of the nurses has a crush on you."  
  
"Really?" If Weiss had been a dog, his ears would have pricked up. As it was he turned his head in the direction of the CIA med-techs running the exams, considering that they were almost directly behind him, he was displaying a surprising amount of agility by not tripping over his own feet. "Which one?"  
  
"Dorman." Vaughn named the senior med-tech, a brown-haired woman in her mid-fifties who possessed strong Romanesque features and a dirty sense of humour. His grin turned into a good-natured smirk as Weiss's head whipped back towards the front. "There's no other reason for her t- WHOA!!"  
  
Vaughn slipped and shot off the back of the treadmill as suddenly increased it speed to the highest setting. Nodding sympathetically at the prone agent, Weiss innocently asked "Mike? Are you alright?"  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"God, I feel like such a tool." Flopping heavily into the chair opposite Will, Francie buried her face in her hands, elbows scattering some of the papers carpeting his table.  
  
"Watch the papers!" he yelped, frantically rescuing the crumpled documents, "I'm not even supposed to have them. The library staff will have my ass if they get damaged."  
  
"I don't care." Francie started rhythmically bashing her head against the table. "I am..."  
-_thunk_-  
  
"...such an..."  
  
-_thunk_-  
  
"...insensitive dolt." At 'dolt' Francie stopped, head flush against the table, and let out a heartfelt groan.  
  
Will looked at her and sighed, dragging his chair around next to hers, he put his hand on her shoulder. "Francie, it can't be that bad. Tell me."  
  
Without moving her head, she replied. "It is."  
  
"C'mon France," putting his chin on the table, he added coaxingly, "You know I'm not going to leave you alone unless you tell me."  
  
Still talking to the papers on the table, Francie began.  
  
"Okay, so _this_ is what happened…  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
_"One more box and we are done." Hands on hips, Francie stood proudly in what had been chaos mere hours before. "I think that's the fastest any student in the entire history of this college has unpacked their stuff before. How did you do it?"  
  
Wiping dust off her forehead with the back of her wrist, Sydney answered "I've had a lot of practice. Mom and I, well, we moved around a lot when I was younger."  
  
"Only your mom and you?" Francie pulled the lid off the last box. "Your parents divorced?"  
  
"Uh, no. Dad died when I was little, about six and a half." She paused for a moment, "Car crash."  
  
"Oh Syd, I'm so sorry." Looking away uncomfortably for a moment, a bright flash of light on the floor caught Francie's eye, stooping she picked up a gold locket on a thin chain. Although the engraving on the oval face was slightly worn, the name "Sydney" was still legible. It was open, revealing the portrait of a young man with curly, dark hair, keen eyes and a boyish grin.  
  
"Syd, who's this guy?" She handed the locket over "He's totally cute."  
  
"Oh, that's my dad. He gave me this locket for my sixth birthday." Sydney flashed a small, sad smile at Francie. "It's the only picture of him I have."_  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"And that's it?"  
  
Francie raised her head incredulously, "What do you mean 'and that's it'? She'd just told me her father had died and I'm drooling over his photo. I must've sounded like a total skank."  
  
"Francie, I doubt you sounded like any kind of skank. Did Syd seem angry to you?"  
  
"Well, no. But…"  
  
"But nothing." Will cut her off, "She probably understands it was just an honest mistake on your part."  
  
"I know." She admitted grudgingly, "It's just, I feel so embarrassed."  
  
"Well you should." Will was unable to contain a snort. "You thought her dad was cute?"  
  
Francie punched him in the arm, hard. "It was an old picture, and he was _very_ cute."  
  
"Cuter than me?"  
  
"Yes." Suddenly taking an interest in the documents she had scattered, Francie asked, "What are anyway?"  
  
"Class lists."  
  
Looking more closely, Francie raised an elegant eyebrow. "From the seventies?"  
  
"There's a couple from the early eighties as well." Will started sorting through them again. "They're for some research."  
  
"McKinley again?"  
  
"Kinda." He waggled his left hand in the air. "I couldn't find the donors for one of the scholarships. Now that's not entirely unusual in the older ones. However, this was from less than twenty years ago. More like fifteen."  
  
Recognising the potential trouble, Francie decided to play devil's advocate "Will, maybe it was just an anonymous donor, not exactly unusual."  
  
"An anonymous donor, no, but several, over a period of years, less so. And for a professor who was supposedly well liked and respected?" Francie just looked at him, eyebrow cocked. "Okay, so it's probably nothing. But maybe, just maybe, it's something."  
  
"Besides, I know how you are with mysteries. You won't stop until you hit a brick wall, sometimes not even then." Getting up, Francie patted him on the shoulder, "I just hope you know what you're doing."  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
"This weekend? Nothing much," Vaughn shrugged as he jogged, "lounge around the apartment, take Donnie for a walk, maybe get some reading done."  
  
"The glamorous life of a secret agent." Weiss quipped as he adjusted his treadmill's speed. "Mike, we have got to get you a life, in fact my sister..."  
  
"No."  
  
"But I haven't even finished!" was the plaintive reply to his friend's flat dismissal.  
  
"Eric," Vaughn shook his head slowly "I know what you're going to say, your sister knows a really nice girl."  
  
"She does, and she's just right for you."  
  
"But," he held up his right index finger, "what you weren't going to tell me was that this girl is actually the best friend of a girl _you_ want to go out with, but who has the good sense not to want to be seen in public with you and you're hoping that if I go out with her friend she'll realise what a catch you are, am I right?"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Am I right?"  
  
"Well...yeah. Hey, Mike, did you know you sounded just like Bristow then?"  
  
Vaughn shot a wary look at him, "Seriously?"  
  
Weiss's head bobbed like a nodding dog in the back of a car "You've even got the _Eric-Weiss-I-am-so-far-ahead-of-you-don't-even-try-to-pull-one-over-on-me tone of voice_."  
  
Slapping the treadmill's stop button, Vaughn asked "When did you meet Jack?"  
  
"After his last meeting with Barnett, he practically ran me down in the hall. He scares me…a lot." Weiss turned off his own treadmill before adding "So, you'll meet this girl?"  
  
He grinned as he took a long swig from his water bottle. "You just don't stop, do you Eric?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I'll think about it. What's her name?"  
  
"Uh, lemme think…" A small crease appeared between his eyebrows as he mumbled to himself, "Yeah, that's it, Alice."  



End file.
